Breaking Point
by Mikauzoran
Summary: Sometimes Shinichi really hates Conan. All he wants is to go home to Ran, for things to be normal again. But what's normal? And who is he anymore? Will he ever truly be able to go back? Sometimes on nights when he's alone, Shinichi wonders. His thoughts turn dark, and he really. Hates. Conan.


Mikau: Hi gang! This fic was inspired by Natsumi (Detectivewriter)'s pic. You can find it on the Poirot Café forum under the fanart section. The thread is called "Depressed Conan". This was originally supposed to be a hundred word blurb describing the feelings behind the picture to explain how I thought the glasses should be placed and why, but…two thousand words later… Well, make sure you check out the pic. Natsumi's super talented. All credit for the inspiration goes to her on this. I hope you guys enjoy it!

Disclaimer: If I owned it, there would be more angst because I seriously love angst. The picture that inspired this is also not mine, obviously, because I cannot draw anymore, so let's all thank Natsumi for the inspiration!

…

Breaking Point

The house was quiet. Ran was away for the weekend at a karate tournament in Nara, and, meanwhile, Old Man Mouri was taking this rare opportunity to get drunk without fear of her retribution. So Conan was alone.

_Shinichi_ was alone with his thoughts, and they were as pitch black as the bottom of the ocean…as dark as the little apartment above the detective agency tonight with no one else home.

He flipped on the light in the main room, hoping that the warm yellow glow would pierce through the shadows clouding his mind. He didn't want to think about his bleak situation: two whole years as Conan and not a lick closer to getting his body back and returning home to Ran.

He turned on the TV in an attempt to drown out the swarm of depressing thoughts.

Kamen Yaiba was on, and it only made him angry because he had actually come to enjoy that stupid kiddie show.

He changed the channel, but the news just annoyed him with its broadcasts about the evils of the world. The dreary reports were only broken up by some tearjerker piece about a dog being reunited with its master after years of being lost and, worse, news of the Kaitou Kid's latest heist.

He shut off the TV and went into the kitchen to forage for some dinner, even though he wasn't really hungry. Eating would take his mind off of other things.

He went to the fridge and was only mildly surprised to find that Ran had made a bentou and left it for him. He had to hold back a grimace when he opened it up, though. She had perfected the art of bunny-shaped apples, wieners in the form of zoo animals, and cartoon designs on the rice. It was the kind of bentou that little kids dreamed of.

But Shinichi was _not_ a little kid, and he didn't want to be treated like one, dammit! Least of all by _her_, by Ran of all people!

Pushing the bentou back in the fridge and slamming the door shut, he stormed out of the kitchen, through the main living area, and into the bedroom.

It wasn't even his bedroom.

He was sleeping on the floor in his crush's father's room. How pathetic was that? How ironic. He was so close to her and yet so far. He'd been living right there under the same roof as her for two years, but he had never felt further away.

He'd heard her crying in the middle of the night when she thought everyone else was asleep. He'd overheard her angry, tearful phone conversations with Sonoko, and he had nothing to say for himself, no way to apologize, explain, or defend his actions.

Because he couldn't tell her. After hiding for so long, he couldn't tell her. Then what would the point have been? All that talk about keeping her safe when he knew that they would kill her anyway. They'd kill everyone that had been close to Conan, regardless of whether they actually knew anything. So why was he still hiding from her? What was he afraid of? Wouldn't it be better for her to know?

No. She was better off in the dark. Let her have her blissful ignorance of the slimy underbelly of things. He didn't want her to know about the evil going on in the world. She saw enough on a daily basis because of him and his strange ability to attract murder and violence and all manner of crime.

Perhaps there really was no point to it all, but he could pretend, couldn't he? He could pretend that he was shielding her from some great evil. He could make believe that there was a reason he was keeping them apart with the façade of "Conan".

He didn't know anymore. He didn't know what was right, what was best.

At that point he realized that he was balling his hands into fists and that his nails were cutting into his palms, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He couldn't un-tense.

God, he was so angry! At the Organization, the world…mostly at himself. Mostly at Conan.

He was so sick of all this. He was fed up with hiding and lying and not being able to be himself.

The frustration was finally getting to him. He _hated_ this. He _hated_ what his life had become. Screw all of this! Forget all of the lies and the secrets, and to hell with the Organization!

He wanted to destroy it all, rip it to shreds!

He yanked off his glasses and glared down at them. He wanted to crush them, destroy that symbol of his alter ego, tear Conan himself to pieces! He was sick of Conan to the point where the sight of his own face in the mirror disgusted him. He didn't want to be Conan anymore! He wanted to be Shinichi!

With a cry of anger and frustration, he threw the glasses as hard as he could.

They hit the wall, bouncing off and clattering to the floor, landing upside-down a few feet in front of the dresser.

He stared at them as they lie prone on the floor like a wounded animal.

His chest rose and fell with his ragged breath.

The house was still and quiet. All he could hear was the sounds of the street—the cars, the commuters—and his breath, his pounding heart. And he was alone. He was alone in a dark bedroom that wasn't his, the only light streaming in from the main room through the door which had been left open a crack.

He was alone with Shinichi's thoughts as Conan's glasses—though it might as well have been Conan himself—gazed up at him, somehow looking hurt.

"What did I ever do wrong?" Conan—the glasses…whichever…both—entreated. "What did I ever do to you? I wasn't trying to ruin your life, Shinichi-niichan. I didn't mean to steal it from you. I just…wasn't this the only way to keep you safe? To keep Ran-neechan safe? …It's not my fault it's taking so long for you to come home. It's not my fault that I became a real person with friends and a family and a life of my own in the meantime. What did I ever do wrong, Shinichi-niichan?"

And suddenly he felt tired. His legs could no longer support his weight, so, with his back to the wall, he slid down to the floor slowly. He needed a break; this was so draining. He rested one arm on his knees and let the other hang at his side. He let his head drop to rest on his arm like a pillow as he sighed.

He was so tired, mentally exhausted.

Sometimes he wondered if maybe it would be better to give up. Let Shinichi go and just be Conan. The kid had friends, a family with the Mouris, and bright future to look forward to, a shining career with the police already off to a magnificent start at the age of eight. Conan could put all of this behind him and make a new life for himself.

But there was Ran. He _loved_ Ran. …But he was hurting her. He didn't know how much longer he could expect her to wait. It wasn't right. She deserved better, but…the selfish part of him wanted to hold on. He knew that she loved him too, and if they could just wait it out a little longer…

He slowly let all the air out, trying to push away the thoughts, drown out the sound of his ever-whirling mind. He hadn't wanted to think about these things.

Sometimes it was easier to seal Shinichi's thoughts away and just be Conan.

He sat there alone in the dark for a good while. He wasn't sure how long, if it had been hours or maybe only five or ten minutes. It felt like an infinity, but he eventually got himself back together.

He stood up and retrieved his glasses, inspecting them for damage before slipping them back on. There was a small chink in the frame by the right hinge, but it wasn't nearly as bad as it could have been considering how hard he had thrown them.

He went back out into the main room and hooked a left into the kitchen. He retrieved the kiddie bentou that Ran had lovingly made for her little brother Conan, and he took the meal into the living area, setting it down on the table and whispering a quick, "Ittadakimasu." before digging in.

He turned on the TV once more, and Kamen Yaiba was still on. Or rather he'd just caught the very beginning of the second episode of the two part special. He left it on this time, lacking the energy to feel irritated that he was actually enjoying the show.

He decided to just be Conan for tonight. It would be easier that way. If he could just be Conan for a little while, not letting Shinichi's thoughts in to bring him down… He could survive the night that way, and then tomorrow he was going to the park to play soccer with the Shounen Tanteidan…Conan's friends…_his _friends. He was going to play with his friends and have a sleepover at the Professor's. They would make curry. They'd talk about tonight's Yaiba episode, so he had better pay attention. They'd play video games while Haibara sat on the couch leafing through fashion magazines and looking bored. Conan would have fun.

And Shinichi would sit, curled up in a little ball in the dark recesses of Conan's mind, looking out through Conan's eyes, through two panes of glass that really didn't do anything to improve vision. He'd sit and he'd watch and he'd wonder, "How much longer?" and sometimes even, "Is this really so bad?"

Shinichi wondered sometimes.

Conan snapped back to attention as, on screen, Yaiba started to do his super move.

It was better not to wonder, not to think. He just needed to be Conan right now. He'd be Conan until someone dropped dead or got kidnapped at the park tomorrow. Once there was a case, Shinichi could come out again. And then afterwards, he'd be Conan until Ran came home. Depending on her mood, he'd be whatever version of Conan that she needed right then.

If she were in a bad mood, he'd behave. He'd read a book or some manga. If she were in a good mood, he'd be the bouncy, enthusiastic, childlike Conan. He'd celebrate with her. If she happened to be hurting over the whole Shinichi situation, he'd be the loving little brother that she needed.

Maybe he'd even tell her to forget about Shinichi-niichan. Because he was a jerk and he didn't deserve her, and he was never coming back. Maybe he'd even go so far as to tell her that Conan would be there for her instead. Maybe he'd tell her that he loved her and he'd never leave her the way Shinichi-niichan had.

He wondered what she would say.

He took a bite of one of the rabbit apples, erasing all of his thoughts like a chalkboard until he was left with a blank slate.

After the episode was over, he'd call Genta to talk about it…or maybe Mitsuhiko instead. And then he'd read manga or perhaps play a game. He'd keep busy until bedtime. He'd keep his Conan mask in place.

Things would be easier in the morning with the distraction that the Tanteidan provided. Right now it was just too quiet. The gloom of the night was getting to him.

He'd just be Conan until all this was over.

He focused on the Yaiba episode, trying not to wonder just how much of "Shinichi" would be left when his personal hell finally came to an end.

The

End


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